


My Baby Shot Me Down

by setos_puppy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Military Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles left ten years ago without a word, and now he's back, and he looks a little different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Baby Shot Me Down

When Stiles disappeared from Beacon Hills after high school it took everyone in the Pack by surprise. Everyone thought the babbling, boundlessly energetic boy would have stayed in the city, taken up a job with his father, gone to the local college and settled in for a life as a bachelor. Of all the ones in the Pack, Derek took his middle of the night farewell the hardest. Stiles had turned and ran, abandoned Pack without a word of explanation or words of parting. The rest of the Pack moved on, helped him rebuild his ramshackle house, helped him fight the weekly evils that slowly dwindled to monthly evils. People moved in to the new house, dragging with them their loved ones and possessions, filling the house with noise and colour and life. 

People moved on, Jackson and Lydia married. Scott spent his time divided between his veterinary training and work, keeping himself busy from his single life. Peter had reestablished himself within ranks as Derek's adviser and he and Scott were actually on speaking terms and when left alone would manage not to tear each other apart. Isaac spent his time driving two hours to school and residency each day, devoted to becoming a doctor with a shining smile. They all fell into routine without a thought and soon the aching hole of Stiles' absence healed over for them - but it had never completely closed for Derek. Derek spent many nights sitting awake, brooding over the words he had never said and his lost chances. 

One day, four years after graduation, Lydia announced over her salad that she had gotten an email from Stiles saying he was graduating from post-secondary. The conversation flared up for a few moments, murmurs of curiosity rolling through the room before they died down. Derek had spent the rest of his meal pulverizing his meatloaf into paste and glaring at his peas. Four years without a word and then a sudden, vague email? Who the hell did Stiles think he was? What gave him the right?

Derek tried to get into dating again, pushed into it by Isaac and Scott, who had a habit to bag worse than anyone else he had ever met, including his mother. They had died down, a few pleasant exchanges spent with his mind on someone else. Jackson and Lydia had their first child, a bouncing half-breed of a girl who took to life with amazing skill. One day, when Derek was watching her mash her Cheerios into the table, he heard a familiar, long forgotten ghost of a voice over the phone as Lydia snagged one of the rings of grain off the plastic and crunched it between her teeth. It had been almost ten years since Stiles had left. His twenty-eighth birthday had passed unnoticed by everyone else a few months previous. 

He was coming back to Beacon Hills. Returning to take care of his dad who was recovering from a close encounter while on duty, a hostage situation turned bad that was leaving him incapacitated for a few months. He made them all promise to meet him at the bus station - _tell the Big Bad Wolf he has to come too, okay?_. Derek spent the rest of the evening chopping firewood they didn't need. 

Three days later they were at the bus station waiting outside for a bus from Los Angeles. Jackson was rolling Bethany's stroller back and forth absently with one hand while juggling his phone in the other, ready to snap photos. Scott and Isaac had made a tacky sign out of neon yellow poster board with balloons and happy faces that welcomed Stiles home. Derek spent the time sitting on the bench between Lydia who was texting Stiles rapid-fire and the Sheriff, who was drinking the oil thick coffee while propping his crutches on the wall. 

"He says they just pulled in." Lydia announced, standing when she spotted the bus pulling toward the offloading zone. Scott hoisted up the blinding sign over his head, waving it back and forth as people started to disembark the bus and grab their luggage. They watched as people filed off the bus and past them with backpacks and rolling suitcases. Finally Derek caught Stiles' smell, still like sweet grass and mud but it was mixed with something hard and chemical and also rough with the smell of sand. Everyone else seemed to have caught the scent as well and watched as the next person ambled down the steps.

It was Stiles, it smelled like Stiles, but he looked different. Derek watched in awe as Stiles picked up his duffle and shouldered it, walking over to them with a confidence exuding from him that he had lacked all those years ago. His hair was the same sheer crop it had always been, and his eyes were still wide and warm, but his face had a hardness to it, lines of wisdom and knowledge that came from pain and fight. He was dressed in battle fatigues and when he stopped by them and pulled them each into a hug one by one, Derek realized the smell on him was jet fuel and that a patch of wings on Stiles' shoulder and a embossed thread was further information of his Air Force career. 

When he and Derek came face to face, Derek looked over the battle roughened edges of Stiles' face, the years of hard training and fighting, endless preparation for a day every soldier wanted and feared would come. Stiles' face broke into a wide smile and he folded his arms over Derek's shoulder and he hauled him into a bear hug. Unable to refuse, Derek slipped his arms over Stiles' back and returned the hug, breathing in the smell he had long missed. 

"So, whose buying a hungry man some dinner?" Stiles asked as he was enveloped by the others and Derek caught sight of the bag as Stiles flung it over his shoulder - **CAPT. STILINSKI**. 

A few hours later empty boxes of Foo Young were spread over the counter and Derek spent an hour tapping his pen against his crossword puzzle book, trying to quiet his mind in the house filled with snores and dim sounding television. He'd spent the afternoon and evening staring at Stiles in the uniform, unable to watch the way it suit him, the way it moved over his whipcord tight muscles and the way his incessant babble had quieted to solemn listening and bright chatter. The younger man had matured in a way Derek hadn't thought possible. It was distracting in a way that was wrong and erotic and perfect all at the same time. Having Stiles back flooded the feelings he had pushed aside and buried back to the surface and it was hard to think and watch him without wanting to finally take what he had denied himself for so long. 

"Can't sleep either?" Stiles' voice broke through the silence and Derek turned to look over his shoulder at Stiles, who was framed in the doorway, watching him curiously.

"Long day, busy." 

Humming in agreement, Stiles crossed into the room, Derek watched as he walked, at the tight muscle of his legs revealed by his physical work uniform. The tight grey t-shirt was snug too, embossed with the Air Force logo and was entirely too distracting. "So, are you going to spend the rest of my visit staring at me and pining or are you going to take action?"

"I -- What?"

"I have a little birdie who informs me of your movements and who has been for the last ten years."

A unimpressed frown tugged at Derek's mouth. "Lydia."

Pulling himself onto the table beside where Derek was working, Stiles crossed his legs at the ankles and rested back on his palms. Derek pushed out of his chair and crushed their lips together, fingers curling into the soft material of Stiles' casual uniform wear. Stiles laughed into the kiss and bit at Derek's mouth when he pulled back from the kiss. "About damn time, wolfie."

Grumbling in annoyance at the nickname, Derek breathed in Stiles' scent, no longer drowned in stifling fumes. "I like the uniform."

Stiles' nails raked against the back of Derek's neck and Derek could feel him smile against the skin. "I know."


End file.
